


To Mend Or Break

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, dark!john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark John...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It seemed for a while that the routine of the military lifestyle would keep me sane. But like an unbroken horse, the reigns began to chafe. I never had any problems giving orders, but taking them was a whole other beast entirely. I said 'yes, sir' so many times that it didn't seem to be a phrase consisting of words, but a sound made to calm the angry warriors that were sure that they knew what was best for me. I saw them as lowly dogs, pathetic and whining. Hungry for attention and easily appeased. When I did as they asked I was rewarded, and easily rose in the ranks. I often though of how Sad it must be for the others to only hold the power to destroy when i wielded such a glorious ability to repair. No, not repair, resurrect. They wrecked havoc, and came crawling back to me, wounded weak broken things. I was their savior, they thought they held others lives in their hands, but I was the last stop on the road to hell for these men. Most were lucky to be directed back by me, quivering messes ready to try to die again.


	2. first times are always memorable

The first time I let a soldier die was my fourth day in the field. His name was Joseph, and he was an disappointment of a man. Joseph loved to bully me in the baracks. Stealing my things and hiding them up high like a bloody school boy. I had spent the last five months with Joseph, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't get the upper hand. Although I rose up in rank I still was assigned to his team. He made the mistake of coming up to my cot one night and screaming "help me, medic" as loud as he could in my ear. It was then that I began to plan his death. I was part way through setting up a poisoning when a bomb blast sent him to me.

That day his chest was torn open. He lay there in my arms. His eyes on mine pleading an unspoken case. He whispered up at me "help me, medic" and bubbles of blood ran down the side of his mouth. He was well within repair. He could be stitched up rather quickly, and though the recovery would take time, if he avoided infection, he would survive. I smiled back down at him and dug my gloved hands into the hole in his chest. "Damned shrapnel" I screamed to the other men, my eyes never leaving his, and my smile never fading. I dug deeper into the heat of him, creating a cavern that quickly filled and overflowed with blood. I could literally feel the life within him. I continued to pretend to work. I looked deeper into his eyes and said quite loudly "I think we are going to lose him." As I let the words leave my mouth I squeezed his heart until it was just useless pulp. "There you go dear, no more worries for you", I whispered as the light left his eyes.


End file.
